Don't Cash in, Cooper
by Theivius Authorius
Summary: CASH IN Transitive Verb: To obtain cash. Intransitive Verb: To retire from a gambling game; to settle accounts and draw for an involvement. Creative Verb, used in 19th century Western cities and towns, most notably those that house Gunslinging, Bandit-Robbing Expert Raccoon Thieves: To Die. Can Tennessee pull an ace from up his sleeve?


_Don't Cash In, Cooper_

_NOTE: CONTAINS 'LANGUAGE'. _

**F Troop, Maverick, Gunsmoke... older Western shows like this are BIG favorites of mine. It's a big reason as to why I've come to like Tennessee Cooper as a character so much! And I've always wanted to write something solely about him, so here goes, a Wild Western Two-shot, staring Tennessee Cooper, Sly's Gunslingin' Bandit Rustlin' ancestor! Tennessee Kid Cooper in... Cash in, Cooper. Second chapter coming soon! Enjoy! **

The ring-tailed poker player slid his hand on the table. He kept a calm face, and a sly smile, as the entire table's jaws dropped at the same time. "If I ain't mistaken, that's a Royal Flush. I tried to warn you fellas: I never lose."

The entire table, as well as the onlookers around it, exploded in different ways. Some of the onlookers were whooping it up, patting the raccoon on the back. Some of them were grumbling, passing out greenbacks that were a part of their own bets. Tennessee merely smirked, kicked his heels up on the table, and pushed down his hat. Since he won against their playing style (a.k.a., cheating), he thought they'd be glad to get a bit of humble pie, as well as a bit of wallet weight peeled off of them.

_Serves them right, disturbin' my nap._

But one of them, particularly the wild dog card-shark that was across from him, slammed his paws on the table. That stopped the whooping pretty quick. Tennessee didn't flinch.

Chips scattered all across their corner of the saloon, cards flipped in the air. He hung his head, not caring as he got pelted with the volley of chips, fuming with rage. The dog pulled habitually on the rope fragment on his wrist; a reminder of his "Skill". It was a part of the first noose anybody had ever tried to use on him. He added a nick in the rope every time somebody tried to hang him again. To those who knew him, which were rare in these parts of the west, he only fumbled with it when he was about to kill a man.

Nobody breathed. Besides, of course, the raccoon. It was a good thing Tennessee knew him.

"...You come into _my _town..." The dog muttered, "... Take _my _money... and make me look like an idiot."

The smile on Tennessee's face grew slightly. He pulled his hat up an inch, so the dog could see his eyes. "You're an observant one, ain't ya? Oh, and sorry pal, but... well, that wasn't too difficult. You did most of the groundwork." The hat fell down again.

The dog growled... then he bent his head back, letting loose a hyena-like flurry of laughs. To the annoyance of Tennessee's ears, it was about the same pitch as well. "Ha! You never told me you were a comedian, Cooper! I like a funny man." He looked around the table, with the same stupid grin on his face. Seeing the other player's scared looks, he frowned. "Don't _you _four think he's funny?"

Like a firework, they all burst out in nervous, forced laughter.

"I thought so." He grumbled. The dog turned his head back to the raccoon. "Ya know... some people could say a person like you, wanderin' in here, came to hustle people. Taking Adam's Ale instead of the Whiskey; probably taking off the sharp of your hangover, eh? Get it? HANG over? HA!" He slapped the table again, and the players erupted in laughter again. Some of the onlookers chuckled along nervously.

The Kid's smile turned sour. _He's got worse jokes than his breath. _

"No, no hangover. Just wantin' a little peace and quiet for a change. And hustling? You've got a bad memory. _You _came here and woke me up, I would have been fine and dandy left alone. Besides, if you'd stop your bellyaching, you'd figure it out: you're lucky I went easy on you."

The silence got heavier. "Oh... OH!" The dog said in a mock tone of revelation, "You were going _easy _on me. Well thank you _so much! _I'm glad to know I lost 5 thousand dollars, only _5,000, _because you went easy on me. Boy..." He muttered a laugh, lumbering over to the raccoon, "...you're too damned cocky for your own good. A loud-mouthed horse thief like yourself might want to _watch _that tongue of yours, before somebody cuts it."

"Oh really?" Tennessee scoffed. He was actually getting annoyed by this thug now. "I'd say the same to you, you dead-brained, horned toad, if I thought it'd get through that mountain of wax. Dont you have a carcass to pick at, or something?"

"HEY!" A voice came out of the crowd. "I resent that remark!" Shouted the toad in some European accent, as he stepped forward. "We toads are artists! We may not be the best _lookers _of the bunch, but-"

"_SHUT UP!" _shouted the dog, and he chucked one of the stray bottles of whiskey at the toad's face. It smashed into him, and the toad fell to the floor, unconscious. People gasped, but nobody moved to help him, for fear of becoming the next victim.

"... Sorry about that. Don'tcha just _hate _when somebody interrupts you? Now then..." He continued. "Kid, you've got guts, that much I'll let you have. If you're lucky, I'll let you keep them. What do you say to a friendly game, Cooper?"

Cooper's feet fell. He pushed his hat up higher on his head, so he could look right in the dog's eyes. he didn't like that malicious glare he saw, it made him... uneasy. But he'd always wanted a challenge. "...What kinda game?"


End file.
